Accuser
by oldstuff
Summary: They found Trisana uncontrollable, wild, undisciplined. A letter was sent, beseeching her own mother to take her back. The temples didn’t want Trisana. Neither did her mother.


**In response to Challenge 5 (though it really counts for 25, too)**

**Accuser**

**By: Gwyn**

**Summary: They found Trisana uncontrollable, wild, undisciplined. A letter was sent, beseeching her own mother to take her back. The temples didn't want Trisana.**

**Neither did her mother.**

"To the Noble Merchants of Chandler:

We regret to inform you that we have found your daughter, Trisana Chandler, incalctrant and uncontrollable . . . ."

_She dragged the child, screaming, toward the dormitory. Her little fists pummeled the woman's shoulders, harder than any hail Mother Nature could have mustered, angrier than the rage of a hurricane. _

_Iron hard hands yanked her hair. "No! I won't go!" _

_She hadn't changed in the slightest—mountains and rivers gave way before this child._

" . . . . She has been found to be repetitively unstable and rude, ornery in every sense and unresponsive to every form of tenderness and healing that can be offered at our facilities . . . ."

_When she had first planned this, she had expected begging and had wondered if she could have said no so easily as she did now. But grim realization had sunk in—her child beg? Never. Tris would only deny ever going in the first place: order, scream, command. Let the years of cold indifference sink in, and maybe she would be forced to plead on her knees, sobbing passionately in the way only a mother's child could—but now was too early. _

_She tried to quiet Tris, even attempting to stroke her face; teeth clamped down on the caressing fingers. Shock and pain loosened her grasp, and within seconds the wriggling girl had slipped out of her grasp and was running. But her short, fat legs carried her nowhere, and soon she was squirming frantically, screaming and crying in turns._

" . . . and it is with deepest respect that we inform you as to the numerous property damages we have suffered due to her unruliness and fragile state of mind . . . "

_Hail pounded at her head, her face, her arms, hail larger and more ferocious than it had the right to be. It raised angry welts on protected skin, and cut deeply on bare flesh, the coppery blood mixing with the salty tears that were dripping down the girl's face. Tris was unharmed—the hail never hurt her—but the mother wasn't. _

" . . . Her mental health is unstable and a danger to all near her . . . "

_Laina Chandler cursed the gods for the curse they had given her, feeling the blood run from her bitten hand, the icy rain and hail battering her viciously. The wind and rain and hail were at her child's beck and call, and here they were, fulfilling what the girl could not even do. _

_Possessed? Probably. The spirit in her was angrier and more feral and wild than the most untamable wildcat, but she suspected that at least some of it was Tris's. _

" . . . Trisana has often been found severely hurting other dedicates and anyone who attempts to reach out to her, and various exorcisms and spells have failed to cleanse her of the pollution she seems to carry within her. We have used every method at our disposal, and must concede defeat as to her ever being properly rehabilitated at our facilities . . . "

_She reached the dedicate, who was standing at the entrance to the dormitories. Her wide eyes were frightened as she reached for the wriggling child—she made the gods circle and tentatively held Tris. Tris pinched her arms were her nail-bitten fingers, bit her shoulder, the hail battering the poor woman as she struggled to hold the girl. Other dedicates were coming to assist in containing her._

_Tris gave an eerie howl that raised goosebumps where the rain had failed to. "No!"_

" . . . We must ask that you, at this time, to please take your daughter to other temples more suited to her specific needs . . . "

_A woman watched her as Laina stepped back into the embrace of her husband, shivering. She was a dedicate, gnarled and rheumy with age. Her eyes were cloudy white—she was blind._

"_Don't you want your child?"_

_Laina's voice carried over the screams, the howls, the shouts of misery._

"_No! I don't! She's not my child; I never want to see her again! She is not my child," she hissed, "she is a curse from the gods."_

_Silence. The hail and wind stopped as abruptly as though cut off by a knife. Tris was not wailing anymore—she had gone limp and was staring, her stormy grey eyes suddenly bleak and desolate, tears slipping down her face. The rain started again, but it was not an angry thounderstorm—it was only a rainstorm, silent and broody and sad. And Tris was watching her, her grey eyes accusing as the dedicates hauled her inside._

" . . . We do not want her here . . . "

Neither did she.


End file.
